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Night 3 of the Drekkal’Zuun
The wind has shifted. It's colder tonight. The stars seem farther away, like the arena is drifting.

The Mercurii slips away from camp, not to get away - but to hunt. It wants to make sure they are able to survive.
Cynamity remains at camp, curled beside the dying embers of a fire. While he sleeps, Glade and the Boopiter find the camp after dusk. They look through Cynamity and the Mercurii's gear, scattering supplies into the sand, drinking their water, stealing rations. And then they disappear.
Moments later, Cynamity jolts awake - heart racing, hands clenched. It was just a nightmare, or was it?

Feminem lies awake. She’s not looking at the stars tonight. She’s thinking about winning.

Toraix tries to light a fire. The flint sparks, but nothing catches. He gives up eventually and stares at the cold, dark pile.

Suchomimos and Bexxi sleep in shifts, backs pressed to opposite sides of a canyon wall.

In the other side of the arena, Sadbread screams. Within moments the Venling is there, hands trembling, eyes wide. What happened? Sadbread says nothing, but their breath calms.

And The Glimloop? It dances. In circles. In sand. Beneath the stars.

Day 4 of the Drekkal’Zuun
The sun rises pale and distant. Each step feels heavier now. The silence is thicker than ever.

Cynamity and The Mercurii split up at dawn. No words, just a nod. They vanish in opposite directions, searching for supplies.

The Boopiter and Glade work togethe. They scavenge along the crater. They say little. But they move as one.

Far off in the dunes, The Glimloop pauses. It stares into the sand for a long time. Then at its own hands. Then back at the sand. Uncertain if anything is even real.

Feminem moves from ridge to ridge, collecting dry branches and splinters of Martian driftwood. She's careful. She’s preparing.

Toraix stands knee-deep in a shallow basin of muddy water, a sharpened stick clutched in both hands. He waits. And waits. A fish flickers beneath the surface. He strikes. At least he won't starve.

Sadbread and The Venling sit under rusted metal shade, eating rations when something falls from the sky. A small crate lands with a soft thud. Inside: fresh food.

Suchomimos crouches beside Bexxi, carefully redressing a wound on her leg.

Night 4 of the Drekkal’Zuun
The Martian night is windless. Too quiet.

Bexxi and Suchomimos sit near the curve of a canyon wall, their backs warmed by a small, smokeless fire. They speak of strength. Of chance. Of dread.

Not far away, The Glimloop tends to its own wounds.

The Boopiter sits beside Glade, soaking a torn strip of cloth in a water and pressing the cloth gently against her side, making sure any wounds are clean.

Feminem sees a flicker of orange in the distance - It's firelight. She stays hidden.
Cynamity and The Mercurii see it too. They crouch low behind a dune. Neither speaks. Neither dares approach.

Under a jagged piece of fallen metal, The Venling curls in on itself, eyes wide and wet.
It turns to Sadbread, with a trembling voice, asking them to kill it. But Sadbread refuses.

And Toraix? He sleeps. For the first time since the Drekkal’Zuun began, he lets his weapon rest beside him. His dreams are quiet.